


one more step, until you fall

by Lorentzade



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Heavensward, but before stormblood, mostly just my wol finally dealing with stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26339080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorentzade/pseuds/Lorentzade
Summary: On that sunset-lit corridor, two things got lost: his luminous life, and your vain naiveté.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 10





	one more step, until you fall

Though the steps treading on this candid snow are as light as a feather, the echoes around are as heavy as the burdens of a sinner.  
The lone figure keeps on climbing higher towards that cliff, and with every footprint his clouded heart sinks a little deeper.  
"It never gets any easier" was never just a hollow musing from a battered soul - and now, a self-deprecating sneer escapes from parched lips.  
Isn't the Warrior of Light, blessed saviour of the common people, supposed to be a beacon of hope unfazed by mortal struggles?  
Isn't he supposed to be above everything else, ever striding forward, following the Good Path laid by the heroes of the past?  
The well-kept ash-coloured grave is now in front of him, and the mere sight of its engravings is enough to make his breaths come to a halt. Just like every single time.  
It never gets any easier, knowing that the name etched on that cold piece of stone is the same you used to playfully whisper in the tenderness of the night.  
The same name that gave you shelter from the frigid snow and turbulent hopelessness, in more than a way.  
The same name you keep on ceaselessly clinging on in your nightmares even now, in the same way you desperately clung to his hand in those last moments.

On that sunset-lit corridor, two things got lost: _his_ luminous life, and your vain naiveté.  
Arrogant boy, egotistic hero - blind to the truth, ignorant of your own limits.  
When the once warm hand he used to hold so tight went limp forever, there was only silence.  
After all, no piercing scream could ever be as deafening as the stillness of death itself.

His trembling fingers, caressing that cherished name written on the grave, are undaunted by the characteristically unforgiving chill of Coerthas.  
Dressed in his usual thin garb, the young man doesn't shiver.  
Instead, he raises his eyes towards the picture-perfect nocturnal background of a lustrously lit Ishgard, and then he moves his gaze to the immovable Heavens.  
He does not offer a prayer, nor a plea - the foolish child who believed in Divine Providence died a year ago, together with his first love.  
Instead, in a musicless reverie, he delivers a dance of remembrance to what once was.  
Graceful movements in front of a scenario that will never feel like home again, in front of a companion that will never hold him again.  
It is a silent ballad for the departed, and the only witnesses are the snowflakes tiptoeing gently around him. 

Suddenly, a sense of dread washes over him - what would _his bygone beloved_ think of the person he has become today?   
Would _he_ sternly reprimand him, disgusted by the ruthless soldier he is now? Would _he_ sadly lament the disappearance of that endearing childishness? Would _his_ brave heart break, in front of those eyes _he_ once loved being now almost devoid of any benevolence?  
Ignoring his faltering legs, he pushes one more step.  
This is his fate, as the Warrior who is to be the radiant pharos of the world.   
One more step.  
Not even twenty-one summers old, yet already on his shoulder lays an unimaginable weight.  
One more step.  
He embodies the hopes of those wishing for freedom, for a better tomorrow.  
One more step.  
But he never asked for such endless sorrows.  
One more step, and he stumbles.

Kneeling in the snow, shoulders quivering under the strain of memories and feelings alike, he stares upon the immaculate flower laid next to the somber tombstone, so similar to the one woven into his own hair.  
And, at last, a forlorn wail finds its way out, and soon another follows.  
Right now, on this cliff overlooking the Holy See, there is no Warrior of Light.  
The one clutching a white lily to his heart, weeping over the last bastion of a love lost, is just a broken boy.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a long-due reflection on my wol and his mourning after heavensward. like, i literally woke up today thinking 'yes. i write. pain.'
> 
> as always, english is not my first language and i don't have a beta-reader so there are probably some mistakes here and there i didn't catch!  
> but, most importantly, thank you!!


End file.
